


The Light They Cannot See

by gray_autumn_sky



Series: Historical Fiction AUs [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by OQ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16050056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: June 1940. France has fallen and the Germans are occupying Guernsey Island--and nothing is as it seems.Based on this lovely drawing by @laura-p-g:





	1. Prologue

Regina looks up from the pot of cabbage boiling on the stove and a little grin tugs up onto her lips as Robin slips through the door that attaches her kitchen to the kitchen of Mal’s boarding house–and when Robin smiles at her, blue eyes shining, she can’t help but laugh.

“You’re all dressed up,” he tells her as he closes the door behind himself, closing them in and, momentarily, locking away the rest of the world. “You look…”

Her eyes roll. “Compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Then it’s a good thing I expect nothing in return for it,” he tells her, leaning against the counter and peering down into the steamy pot. “Still, though, you look beautiful.”

Grabbing a dish cloth, she wipes down the edge of the counter, her eyes shifting up at Robin. “Henry and I are going into the village today,” she explains. “We can’t properly celebrate with a cake or a party with all of his friends, and I think he’s a little sad about that, but I don’t see why we can’t have a nice day together.”

He nods, offering a tight smile–she knows there’s nothing he can do, that the situation they’re in is out of his control, and he’s already more than any sane person would do to get them out of it. So, she grins a little and tosses down the dishcloth and turns to him–then, almost instinctively, he reaches for her.

“I hate this,” he says, his voice low and barely audible.

She notices that he looks away. His eyes pressed tight and cast downward, away from hers and she thinks he looks embarrassed–though he certainly has nothing to be embarrassed about. In this whole terrible ordeal, he was the thing that was getting her through it.

For her, the war had been going on much longer than a year. Leopold had left long before its official start–long before men of his age and rank were asked to–and little by little over the course of that first year, the money he’d send back to her was lesser and lesser until it was nothing at all. She didn’t care about it for herself, but it bothered her when Henry had to go without–and she hated that her son struggled because of his father.

She worked odd jobs around town–she taught piano lessons, did mending and washing, and a little cooking here and there, and sometimes, when Mal needed help at the inn next door, she’d step in to help. She didn’t earn much, but it was enough to get by, and though she didn’t like to think of it, she knew people in the village hired her because they knew her situation and they felt sorry for her–if not for her, for Henry. Everyone knew that Leo kept an apartment in Paris. It was supposed to be for business, but in reality, it was a place he carried on his affairs–and everyone knew that.

That part didn’t bother her. There was no love lost between her and Leo. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him. Their marriage was one of convenience to appease her mother, and neither ever pretended it was anything other than that.

Still, though, Henry deserved better.

It was because of that desire for Henry to have better than he had that she struggled with her decision not to send him away when the island’s children were evacuated. At the time, he was only eight, and though she’d stood on the dock watching children years younger than him climbing into rocky little boats and headed for safety in England, she couldn’t bring herself to send him away. Everyone said that was selfish, reminding her that things were going to get worse before they got better–and that, she told them, was exactly why she couldn’t send him away. She argued that if England fell to the Germans, just as France had, Henry would be no better off there than he would be at home–instead, he’d be scared and alone in a foreign land. She could make no guarantees of how he’d be treated or if his host family would treat him well. It was all a gamble, and she wasn’t willing to gamble with her son’s safety and happiness.

But, of course, it was more than just that.

She didn’t know how to be without him. So much of who she was and why she woke up in the morning was thanks to her son–and without him, she wasn’t sure she’d have that drive. He was all she had in the world, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive without him–especially if something happened to him.

And every single day, she wondered if that had been a wrong and selfish choice.

“I know you do. I hate it, too.”

“It’s just–”

“It’s not fair,” she agrees without letting him say it. “But it’s a lot worse for a lot of people, and especially on days like today, I have to keep reminding myself of that.”

He nods–he knows. He knows better than most what others are suffering through–and she knows better than most how much he struggles with it.

It wasn’t long after his arrival on the island that she discovered his part in it all. From the very beginning, Robin hadn’t been like the other soldiers. From his accent and English last name to the way he looked at her whenever they made eye contact to the bond he’d forged with her son–and, though it filled her with an incredible amount of worry, she’d been glad to know that he was on her side, that the reason he seemed different is because he was.

She shivers a little when she thinks back on that cold October day when Henry told her he’d followed Robin on what he called a secret mission. Her stomach lurched and her heart pounded as Henry explained the old, dilapidated barn at the very end of Mal’s property, just off the shore, had been overtaken by zombies. She’d laughed a little at that–Henry was always an amazing storyteller–but as he went onto describe the zombies, she quickly came to realize they weren’t figments of his imagination. They were people–children, actually–and when he described their gray skin and sunken-in eyes, she was filled with an indescribable feeling. As Henry explained, she nearly forgot Robin’s involvement–and then, when Henry said his name and explained that Robin was protecting them from the zombies, it took everything in her to hold her tongue. Then, she was glad that she did because Henry went onto explain that from the hayloft, he watched Robin putting them in boats and sending them off to sea, away from the island.

A week later, long after Henry went to bed, she sat up in her darkened bedroom staring out at the night sky–and as she watched the the tall grass sway in the wind outside her window, she saw Robin. Startled, she sat up, remembering Henry’s story, and before she even realized what she was doing, her slippers were on and she was reaching for her coat, ready to follow him.

She lagged behind, though she never lost sight of him. Though it was cold, she was glad for the wind–it meant she followed unnoticed–and when she finally reached the barn, she watched him lift a little boy into his arms. He couldn’t have been more than three years old and was wearing tattered, dirty clothes and in the moonlight, she noticed his gray skin and sunken in eyes–and she also noticed the way Robin cradled him, rocking him gently and wiping away his tears. Robin reached out and took two more children by the hand–the oldest, a girl, looked about Henry’s age–and together, they walked to the coast. Her heart pounded as she moved closer and it occurred to her that she should  _do something_ , after all, as nice as he was to Henry, he was the enemy and she’d heard the stories of what his kind had done. But he didn’t seem like he was going to hurt them–and then, she saw a quick flash of light. It happened once, and for a moment, she thought that maybe she’d imagined it–but then she heard another voice and she watched as Robin shook his hand. Though it was hard to see, she made out the shape of a rowboat–and it reminded her of the boats that were used to evacuate the island the previous year. Robin crouched down between the older children and she watched as his hand cupped the back of the head of the girl as he leaned in, presumably to tell her something–and then, as he pulled away, the other man took the two older children by the hand and helped them into the boat. Once they were in, he turned back and Robin transferred the smallest child into the man’s arms.

She didn’t see what happened next, but she saw Robin wave to them–and then, he just stood there, watching the little boat disappear into the vast ocean.

Once more, she felt an indescribable feeling take over her and it occurred to her that she should leave–it was long after curfew and she’d just witnessed something that was quite illegal–but she found that she couldn’t move. She just stood there, watching him stare out at the coast–and when he turned back, he spotted her.

He didn’t say anything as he came toward her, and once again, her heart started to beat a little faster–then, when he reached her, he leaned in and whispered to her that she could say nothing about what she’d seen. Nodding, she followed him back toward the house–and they never spoke of what happened the night again.

“Listen,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t be here, but–”

“When has that stopped you?”

Chuckling softly, he nods. “I’m supposed to be running drills.”

“Won’t they miss you?”

“Not yet,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cleanly severed shoelace.  “I need to change my laces. I’m out of dress.” Blinking, she looks at that–and a soft giggle rises up from her as she thinks of him cutting his own laces to give them a quick moment together. “But, um… Mal told me you were headed into the village with Henry and I… wanted to give you something to give him.”

“You have something for my son?”

He nods, stepping back and reaching into his satchel. “It’s not much, but–” Her eyes widen as red foil paper catches her eye. “I have a chocolate bar.”

“ _Real_ chocolate?”

“Yes. I requested, um… well…” He shifts a bit awkwardly. “My mother sent it from Berlin and Kommandant Gold now thinks I have a sweet tooth, but–”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s the least I can do.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head as she accepts the chocolate bar from him. “He’s going to be  _elated_.”

“And probably bouncing off the walls.”

She laughs and nods. “Will you come for dinner? It’s just cabbage and potatoes, but–”

Nodding, his cheeks flush slightly beneath the scruff that covers them. “It’ won’t just be that.”

“What?”

“Mal didn’t want me to say anything, but, um… there will be cake, too.” Regina feels her eyes widen and her chest tightens a bit. “We have to pretend it isn’t a birthday cake, but it’ll be chocolate and–” She doesn’t let him finish. Instead, she throws herself into his arms and presses a quick kiss to his lips, and as he laughs out, she steps back. His arms wrap around her and for just a minute, she’s glad to just let him hold her as she loses herself in the improbable fantasy of building a life and a family with him. “Tell him I wish him a very happy birthday.”

“You can tell him yourself,” she says, pulling back and offering a quick wink. “At dinner.”

Robin hesitates, but then nods as he takes a few steps back, looking toward the window to the field where the others are waiting. He offers a regretful little sigh before he turns away–and as he slips back through the door that leads to Mal’s kitchen, she catches a glimpse of Mal, laughing gently and shaking her head.


	2. How It All Began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for OQ Prompt Party 2019, Prompt #81 OQ + War
> 
> ___
> 
> Henry has a fall; Robin (a German soldier and medic) respond.

In some ways, the war hadn't really touched her.

Despite the occupation that began earlier that summer, the war itself seemed like a distant conflict, a problem that wasn't so unlike others that she lived through. As a girl she'd lived through the Great War and soon after, she lost a sister to the Spanish flu. She'd fallen in love only to lose her lover in a stupid boating accident just a week after he proposed, and soon after, while she was still grieving, her mother had pushed her into a marriage she didn't want.

When the world markets crashed that fateful Tuesday morning, her mother responded by writing a suicide note full of self-pity and elitist criticisms of the world before sending a bullet straight through her temple. And if that wasn't bad enough, the market's crash sent her already-fragile marriage into a downward spiral. In the midst of that, Henry was born-a rare bright spot in her life-then, only two years later, Leopold left. They didn't divorce, only separated, but from there on, their lives went in completely different directions. Within a year, his letters to Henry had dwindled, and now, she didn't even know where he was.

It made her sad that her son's father had such little interest in him, but at the end of the day, Henry was a happy boy and that was all that mattered. They had each other and that was enough.

Just more than a year ago, her father died under questionable circumstances in an uprising in Spain while visiting family, and without him, she found herself unable to keep up with her mortgage. So, she'd sold the house and moved off of the mainland. In a rare stroke of luck she found an advertisement for a rental property-and when she arrived, she was greeted by a tall, blonde haired, blue-eyed woman named Maltilde who she now joked had been something of a savior.

It wasn't an overstatement, really—after all, she owed her her independence.

Thanks to Mal, in a single afternoon, she'd found a house to rent and a job that would cover her costs-and that very day, she brought Henry to look at it. She watched him run around the house, exploring every nook and cranny, and when he spotted the rope swing on an old tree out back, he was completely sold.

The house was actually split into two-a larger part that served as a boarding house that Mal ran-and smaller house attached to it that she'd be renting. The houses were joined by a door that linked the kitchens, and though it didn't have any of the new, modern appliances that made life convenient, it was cozy.

The house itself was made of stone and there were vines and flowers growing in patches up the front and sides-but the best part was the side-by-side bedrooms upstairs. They each had slanted ceilings and large bay windows that overlooked green, rolling countryside and the ocean just beyond it.

Henry claimed the one with built in bookshelves and a little desk-and that was that. They had a home that was all their own.

So, when war broke out on the mainland, she'd been too busy to pay it much attention; after all, it didn't seem unlike any of the other terrible things that had happened during her lifetime, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was happy and content with her life.

The war, however, wouldn't be ignored. It demanded her attention, and by July, troops were not only occupying her quiet island, but had overtaken Mal's boarding house. They were mostly young men, and for the most part, they kept to themselves. They rose early and Mal prepared them breakfast, then they spent their days either practicing drills in the fields or patrolling. They had missions at night that they never spoke about, and she imagined that outside of patrolling to ensure curfew was being kept on the island, there wasn't really much to do.

After morning drills and patrols, they returned in shifts for lunch and again for dinner; and outside of helping Mal to prepare their meals and take care of their laundry, she didn't pay them much attention.

Their commander, though, she did notice. He was a short, skinny man with a sinister smile who looked down on the others—and most certainly looked down on her and Mal. He'd never even bothered to introduce himself.

She'd learned from one of the other soldiers that his name was Rupert Weber-and, as the soldier's eyes shifted to Henry, his voice lowered as he told her that Weber wasn't fond of children, and her son should stay out of his way.

So, Henry did—she made sure of that...

"Regina," Mal calls through the always-open kitchen door. "Can you give me a hand with this?" Regina looks through the door, nodding as she watches Mal struggling with a large wicker basket full of linens, looking down at the clean sheets with disdain. A grin pulls onto her lips, remembering that when she first moved in, Mal told her she'd rather scrub toilets than do laundry. "I want to get these beds done before lunch."

Regina nods, tossing down the dish rag she'd been using to clean a pan. She wipes her hands on her skirt and looks to Mal. "I'll be right there," she calls. "I just want to check on Henry."

Mal nods understandingly, and she turns back into the little living room, grinning at her son, curled up in an armchair with a book open in his lap. "I've gotta go help Mal with the beds."

"Okay," he murmurs, not looking up from the page.

"Will you stay here until I get done?"

"Mmhmm." Still, he doesn't look up from the book. "Sure, Mom."

Drawing in a breath, she nods and turns back to the kitchen. From the corner of her eye, she can see an army green jeep pulling up the path to the house-nothing unusual, given the occupants-and she keeps going, joining Mal in the kitchen. She takes one side of the basket and Mal takes the other, and together, they haul it upstairs.

"Let's start with Weber's," Mal says, rolling her eyes as she looks to her. "The sooner we get in here, the sooner we can get out."

Regina smirks. "You'll get no complaint from me."

"Does he creep you out as much as he creeps me out?"

She nods. "Those eyes are-"

"Beady."

"Yes, like a rat's."

A grin edges onto Mal's lips as she push into the room. "Maybe I should leave him a plate of cheese."

Regina reaches into the basket and pulls out one of the white linen sheets. "Do rats eat cheese?"

Mal shrugs. "I've only ever fed them poison."

"Now there's an idea," Regina replies darkly, fanning out the sheet over the bed.

"A little arsenic in his coffee, maybe?"

Regina laughs. "We shouldn't be talking like this. Someone might hear."

"I'm not afraid of him," Mal says pointedly as she tucks the sheet underneath a corner of the mattress. "This is still my house, even if he thinks he owns it." Regina only smirks in reply, tucking in the corner of the sheet opposite Mal's. "I'm serious, Regina. This is-"

Mal's voice halts at the sound of a scream.

 _Henry's_  scream, she realizes.

Regina drops the sheet and takes off running, taking two steps at a time as she hurries down the stairs. Throwing open the side door, she looks around frantically in search of her son-and when her eyes fall to him, her heart nearly stops.

Henry is laying at the bottom of the tree next to their house. He's holding his wrist and forearm and his face is red-and a man in uniform is making his way toward him.

Suddenly, her mouth goes dry.

"No," she murmurs in a barely audible voice as she takes off running, her voice growing louder. "No, no, no! Stop! Get away from him!" The soldier does as she asks, holding up his hands and turning toward her as she rushes past him, falling to her knees beside her son. "Henry," she breathes out. "Henry, are you alright? What happened?"

"I… I wanted to watch them unload the truck," he says, his voice shaky as he tries in vain not to cry. "I… I just… I thought…" His jaw begins to quiver as tears spill down his cheeks. "I lost my balance."

"Henry, you were supposed to stay inside."

He looks up at her and nods. "I know. I'm sorry, I just… I wanted to watch. I figured I could do that from the tree." He tries to muster a grin, but fails. "Mama, it hurts."

"Let me see," she says gently, drawing in a breath and doing her best to keep her own tears at bay. "Let me see your hand."

"Ma'am, if I could-"

"No," she says, looking back sharply. "Don't come another step closer to him." He stops again as she looks to Henry's arm, her stomach lurching as she sees how misshapen it looks, already beginning to bruise and swell. "Can you… move it at all?" she asks, looking helplessly to her son. "Even just a little bit?"

Henry tries and screams out in pain, and now, tears are flowing down his cheeks. "It hurts! Mama!"

"Okay, sweetheart, I-"

"Ma'am, I'm a doctor." She looks back at the man wearing the German uniform who speaks English with only a hint of an accent. "If you could just… just let me help your boy, I-"

"Regina, let him help," Mal says, coming to stand beside him. "We'd have to take Henry to the mainland. It'd be at least an hour before we got to the hospital." She grins gently and nods, her eyes apologizing that there isn't a better solution. "Let him help, Regina."

"I… I have my credentials," the soldier says, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a piece of paper-and when he turns, she sees the little red cross on his arm. "Here," he murmurs, "have a look at them."

Swallowing hard, she takes the paper and looks to Henry-then, back to the papers. It's all written in German and she's too flustered to try and make sense of it, but the word  _medizin_ catches her eye, and really, regardless of how she feels about all of this, she has no choice. Even if they did take Henry to the mainland, even if they did catch a cab and go to the hospital, even if someone was available to see him, she could never afford the bill.

So, she nods and hands him back his papers, watching as he tucks them back into his breast pocket. He offers her a reassuring little grin and steps cautiously, kneeling down in front of Henry. She hovers behind him, her heart pounding in her chest as she watches the way he tenderly touches Henry's arm as he examines it.

Henry winces, but he doesn't cry out.

The soldier calls something out to one of the others standing nearby, and though he hesitates at the apparent order, he nods, running back to the truck and returning with what looks like a doctor's bag.

Taking it, he rises and looks to her. "Is there somewhere we can go? Inside or-"

"Inside," she nods, pointing toward the little house next to the boarding house. "There."

The soldier nods, turning back to Henry—and once more his tone is kind. "Do you need help getting up?"

Henry hesitates and he offers him his hand, grinning encouragingly.

Henry looks to her and she nods, and her heart still beating wildly and her stomach is in knots as Henry places his hand into the soldier's. He helps him up and together, they all walk toward the house with Mal following close behind.

He takes Henry into the kitchen and hoists him up onto the counter, and then, as he's rummaging through his bag, he flashes Henry a grin. "Do you like candy?"

Henry brightens, suddenly less shy than he was just a moment before. "I do."

"What's your favorite flavor?"

Henry considers it. "Cherry."

"Well, you are in luck!" She watches a bit curiously as the soldier pulls out a lollipop wrapped in paper. "It just so happens that I have a bunch of them. They're my son's favorites." Henry grins and takes a candy. "Now, you stay right here while I go and talk to your mum, okay?"

Henry nods and the soldier turns to her. "It's definitely a break," he tells her, leading her away from Henry. "The good news is it doesn't appear to be his dominant hand  _and_ I happen to be something of a pro at setting bones."

Regina swallows. "How much-"

"Nothing," he's quick to say. "Consider it… a neighborly gesture."

Her eyes narrow. They aren't neighbors, and she doesn't want his kindness, much less to feel indebted to him.

"Do you have a ruler and an old rag?" She blinks, not quite following. "A clean one, of course-"

"I do," Mal says. "In my kitchen."

Regina watches as Mal hurries through the door that joins the kitchen, crossing her arms over her chest. A part of her feels she should make some sort of small talk with him-he's new here, that could be something-but a bigger part of her doesn't want to know him.

In fact, she wants nothing to do with him.

So, she stays quiet and keeps her eyes down until Mal returns. The soldier shifts on his heel, frowning as he looks away, but nonetheless taking the hint.

"Alright," Mal calls. "A ruler, a clean kitchen rag, and some scissors… because… that seemed like something you'd need."

"It is," the soldier says, grinning as collects the things from her. "Now, I'm going to need some assistance for this next bit." He clears his throat and she can feel his eyes on her. "Both of you."

"Of course," she murmurs.

"One of your needs to hold his head-"

"That's you, Regina," Mal says.

"Yes," the soldier says as their eyes meet. "Just… hold him and comfort him."

"I can do that," she tells him, looking back to Henry and smiling gently watching as he sniffles between licks at his lollipop. "What else-"

"You'll hold his feet," he says looking to Mal. "He's going to kick."

Regina blicks, looking sharply back at him. "Why?"

"I have to pop the bone back in, push the broken pieces back together."

Regina's eyes widen. She should have known that.

She holds her breath as the soldier turns back to Henry, slowly explaining what's about to happen. She watches him pointing to the broken bone, and she watches as Henry nods-as much as she hates it admit it, the soldier is good with her son.

He keeps him calm by explaining things in a way that's factual and at his level, but he doesn't talk down to him. He lets Henry ask questions and answers even the silliest once sincerely-and once Henry is satisfied, and grins. "Are you ready then?"

Henry nods, and the soldier looks to her. "How about you, Mum?"

"Ready," she says in a quiet voice, stepping up beside her son, her heart aching as Henry turns his face into her shoulder, clutching at her dress as he holds his breath. She holds him tightly as Mal stands beside the soldier, holding onto Henry's feet as the mansoldier counts to three-and then, with no more than a whimper from Henry, it's done.

He lifts his head and grins as the soldier sets his arm, instructing her too keep the rags loose and reminding her that the swelling will get worse before it gets better. He promises to return in three days and then again in five to check on Henry's arm, and on the fifth day, if everything looks as it should, he'll set it-and before she can get out the words to ask about the cost, he says there will be no charge, it's just what neighbors do.

He smiles charmingly as he says that last bit, and his blue eyes seem so kind; for a fleeting moment, she almost forgets who he is, almost forgets what he is.

Almost, but note quiet.

"I'm Robin, by the way," he tells her, extending his hand.

She nods, folding her arms over her chest looking to his hand and then back to him. "Thank you for helping my son," she replies, turning away and walking back to Henry who's waiting for her in the kitchen. She says no more than that. She wants nothing to do with him.


End file.
